Just Keep Him Alive
by Laramie Station
Summary: My first story. Please be gentle. Thank you. This idea came from a random thought during a discussion with a friend. Yes, I have a strange sense of humor. I hope you like the story. This was Beta'd by the incredible Sally Bahnsen. Thank you for your sharp eye and incredible talent.


I own no part of Laramie or it's characters, only those I create. No profit is made from this story. It is written only for the enjoyment of Laramie fans. I thank the network for creating such wonderful characters that live on far past the closure of the series.

Just Keep Him Alive

by Laramie Station

In an office somewhere in the Celestial City, there is a gentle knock on a golden door.

"Come in."

"Excuse me, Peter"

"Yes, Eli?"

"Maxwell is here. He wants to talk to you," said Eli softly, with a slight rustle of wings.

"Did he say what it was about?"

"Yes, sir," he replied tensely. "It's about his current assignment."

Peter sighed, "Very well, send him in."

"Good afternoon, Maxwell."

"Afternoon, Peter."

"I hadn't expected to see you so soon, Maxwell. Is there a problem?" Peter asked knowingly.

"Peter, I-I think Cayden may have made a mistake. I j-just don't think I'm the right angel for this a-assignment," stuttered a nervous Maxwell.

"Maxwell," Peter said with great patience, "Cayden is a Senior Angel. He thinks everything through very, very carefully and takes into consideration every conceivable outcome. That's why he chose you to handle his charge while he's on this special assignment."

"That's just it, Peter, I don't think Cayden thought this whole thing through carefully enough." A nervous flutter of his wings lifted him slightly into the air and left a small betraying cluster of luminescent feathers to drift lazily to the floor.

"Maxwell, Cayden specifically requested you to handle this assignment. He must have great faith in your abilities or he would never have asked for you. He is extremely protective of his charge and refuses to allow me to assign just 'any' angel to cover for him when he is forced to leave him," implored Peter. " Besides, all he asked you to do was 'just keep him alive'. He will be back by Friday evening and will once again take over his charge himself."

"Are you SURE ? Did he really SAY he was coming back?" said Maxwell. "After what I've been through with his charge, I wouldn't be surprised to learn he's hiding out somewhere in the Elysian Fields till a new assignment shows up."

"Cayden gave his word he would be back by Friday night at the latest. You know he always keeps his word," reminded Peter. "And what did you mean by 'what you've been through'?"

"Oh, Peter, you don't know the damage this youngster is capable of doing to himself. I'm trying to 'just keep him alive' as Cayden instructed! I swear, I'm going to be a total wreck by the end of this assignment," complained Maxwell.

"Now Maxwell, that's ridiculous, it's just for five days and you have less than four left. What could possibly go wrong?"

"What could go wrong?".

Maxwell began pacing back and forth in Peter's office, leaving a glowing trail of feathers flashing tiny rainbows on the office walls as he walked.

"Day One was not bad, he seemed content to stay close to his friend all day and very little seemed to go wrong. His friend appears to have a calming effect on him. The only things to happened that day were simple things like hitting his thumb with a hammer, and one of the horses shoving him into a corral fence, just the usual minor bumps, bruises and scrapes. However, "Day Two", he has been left, more or less, on his own," Maxwell shuddered, adding to the growing pool at his feet.

"So far, he has banged his head on a stall door which left a bleeding gash that dear. sweet Daisy, very nearly had to stitch up. She had to give him a clean shirt as well, because he bled all over the one he was wearing. He's been bucked off a wild horse four times. I'm telling you, if I hadn't provided a convenient puff of wind to carry him over that fence rail, I shudder to think what he might have broken if he'd actually hit it.

"Then," continued Maxwell, "I finally got him to follow my 'suggestion' to ride the fence line, thinking that would be safe enough. That turned into a bad idea. His horse was spooked by a rattler. If I hadn't blown a large tumbleweed toward him to soften his landing he would have broken his shoulder. Still, he came away with dozens of scratches on his back and tears in his shirt. Well, I thoughtfully chased down his horse and sent it back to him, thinking he would be smart enough to go home and take a short rest after such a wicked fall. No-o-o-o, not him. He gets up on his horse and keeps right on riding the fence line. A few hours later he finally decides... after much prodding from me... to take a little personal time and he heads off across a meadow toward a line of trees and a stream. Rest assured, I was very happy to see that turn of events. Especially when he took out his fishing line and proceeded to sit down to catch a few fish," said Maxwell, relief clear in his voice.

"Then... I swear to you Peter... I took my eyes off him for a moment. A SINGLE MOMENT, Peter!" Maxwell yelled in despair as his wings shivered, releasing a small storm of feathers which trailed after him like a low lying fog bank as he paced around Peter's office.

"He jumped up to pull in his last fish and the bank gives way under him and down into the stream he goes. The current is so fast he can't get his footing and he won't let go of that miserable fish... or his line. I know, because I kept trying to tell him to drop the fish and swim to shore! I finally had to put a branch in the stream so he could grab it and get his feet under him and wade to shore. Well, I eventually get him back to his horse and he's just as happy as a little kid with that darned fish. He collects the rest of his catch and starts to clean them. I have to give him points on this because, in his words " _he_ _didn't want the fish smell to bother Daisy, as she hadn't seemed too perky this morning_ ". And before I can even blink he cuts his hand! It's NOT a small cut, he's dripping blood everywhere! I'm pushing at him with all I've got to get him to go home and get that hand treated properly before he bleeds to death," Maxwell continued, exasperation tinging every word.

"Nope, nothing doing. He's not gonna " _let a little ol' scratch slow him down_ ". He just wraps his dirty, filthy bandanna around it and keeps on cleaning fish. When he's done, he mounts up and at long last heads for home. When he gets there, I'm pushing his partner out to meet him to see he gets tended to and what's my charge doing? He's all excited about his fish and having a fish dinner. Those folks had to practically wrestle him to the ground to get him to sit down long enough to fix that 'little scratch' as he called it.

"When I left, he had been stuffed (once again) into a set of fresh, dry clothes, wrapped in a blanket, with his feet in a pan of hot water to help fend off any lingering chill from his 'little dip' in the stream," Maxwell sighed with relief.

"I made one last check before I came to your office and he was having a nice hot lunch followed by warm apple pie and coffee. So, I figured it would be safe to take a moment and come up here to discuss this assignment with you," continued Maxwell, hanging his head as he finally sat in a chair across from Peter.

Jumping up, he continued pacing the office as his wings fluttered, briefly lifting Maxwell off the floor amid a floating blizzard of feathers, sneezing as a feather drifted past his nose. Finally noting the loose feathers, Maxwell cried in astonishment, "Look at me, I'm a wreck. I'm molting. My feathers are falling faster than I can replace them."

 _It'll take a year, maybe more, to replace all these feathers. I hate new feathers, they always itch when they start growing back,_ he thought morosely.

"Nonsense, Maxwell, angels don't molt. Chickens molt. You're just having a little nervous reaction to your assignment," admonished Peter.

Maxwell sighed, as he distractedly spread his wings wide, stirring the pool of feathers at his feet. " And let us not forget what Cayden promised to do to me if I fail to 'just keep him alive'."

"Now, now, Maxwell, Cayden would never really do anything like that to you. Even if he did," muttered Peter softly, "you must know that I am duty bound to stop him. Quit worrying. Enjoy the challenge. Have a little fun. Consider it an opportunity to relax. It's a nice change of pace from your usual work."

"Enjoy the challenge, he says. It'll be fun, he says. Relax, he says." Maxwell snorted, pacing the width of Peter's office, feathers airborne with every step.

Sniffling audibly, while wiping his nose on the sleeve of his glowing raiment, Maxwell asked, "How am I ever going to keep that young man alive to the end of the week? I'll never survive five days of being his Guardian Angel. I just KNOW I'll end up the first angel in eternity to die while guarding one human."

"Nonsense, Maxwell, you're a celestial being, you can't die. Especially while guarding one young human... no matter how accident prone he might be. Cayden never said he had to be free of cuts and bruises, only that you had to 'keep him alive'. Besides, compared to some of the things I've seen and heard Cayden tell about his charge, what you've experienced doesn't sound too bad. He has a few cuts and bruises but no major damage as far as I can see," Peter said, peering over the edge of a cloud to check on the human under discussion.

Peter, trying to cheer Maxwell up, said, "Look on the bright side, Maxwell, at least half of every day, he'll be asleep, safely tucked up in his bunk."

Wearily, Maxwell asked, "Do you want to know what he did last night while he was 'safely tucked in his bunk'?"

"He dragged his partner out in the middle of the night to help deliver a calf. Then, because the night was so cold, he picked up the calf and started to mount up to take the little critter to the barn for the night. Well... let me tell you, that mother cow was not having anyone mess with her little darling. She put her head down and charged him. If I hadn't made that female keg of dynamite slip in a well-placed mud-hole, giving him time to mount up, he would have been skewered like a shish kabob."

"Well done, Maxwell. That was very quick thinking on your part."

Suddenly, taking another look over the edge of the cloud, Peter asked, "Maxwell, didn't Cayden say something about not letting his charge go to town?"

"Yes, he said things tend to get a little troublesome when he hits town," agreed Maxwell. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, looks like his partner has sent your charge to town to get supplies. He's left the wagon in front of the mercantile and if I'm not mistaken that's the sheriff coming to meet him right now," smiled Peter innocently.

"What?" screeched Maxwell in total alarm.

Maxwell looked over the edge of the cloud to view the scene below. Sure enough, there was his charge giving a wave to the sheriff and heading into the saloon.

The SALOON!

"No!, N-o-o-o! Not the saloon! Cayden said, 'never let him go in the saloon'," wailed Maxwell as he made a high speed dive for earth. "I'll never keep him alive for five days."

"Stop worrying, Maxwell, you don't have five days," Peter called after him.

Those words nearly gave Maxwell whiplash he stopped so quickly. "You mean someone else is taking over?"

"No, it means you only have three and a half-days left," laughed Peter.

With a grimace Maxwell turned and continued his high speed dive, arriving in time to see the saloon doors swing closed behind his young charge. Moments later the sheriff arrived at the saloon doors, just in time to side-step a cowboy as he sailed through the bat wing doors to land in the dusty street.

An audible crash emanated from the saloon. Yes, Jess Harper was in town.

With a sigh Maxwell repeated to himself, _"Just_ _keep him alive to the end of the week..."_

Another crash echoed from the bowels of the saloon.

" _I'm going to take up drinking before this is over,"_ Maxwell promised himself.


End file.
